


To Love a Hobbit

by mitsukai613



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Courting is hard, Fíli and Kíli Are Little Shits, M/M, but also eventually helpful, but rewarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has always tried to get across that Bilbo is unfit for a life of adventure, and yet, the little hobbit saves him from the mightiest of the orcs and lived to speak of it. This has made him grow... intrigued, to say the least, because how can such courage reside in such a tiny little thing? He can't show it, though; Bilbo is only a hobbit, and he's a king, even if one without a mountain. </p><p>Bilbo is persistent, though, and his nephews would absolutely love it if their uncle got together with Bilbo (possibly partially because Bilbo totally loves them and would therefore help keep them out of trouble with Thorin) so they decide to flirt with Bilbo to help Thorin kick himself into gear. This helps, but in the end its a push from Dwalin and Gandalf that forces him to finally get passed all his Dwarven stubbornness and tell Bilbo the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first work for this fandom, so I hope it's at least alright! My apologies for any of the characters being a little screwy; as I said, I haven't ever really practiced them before, so I'm kind of just experimenting and trying my hardest to get them right right now. If anyone has suggestions, please don't hesitate to tell me!

                He was not cut out for an adventurer’s life, the hobbit. He was a small thing, beardless and soft, able to be lifted with one hand by even the weakest of dwarves. No, he was not cut out to join us, and yet the wizard had _insisted_ that he was a perfect burglar. I couldn’t see it; the Halfling was quick, I’d give him that, but he wasn’t much else. Not cunning, not treacherous, but witty, kind. He was sure-footed, if overly cautious. Good conversation, perhaps, at least if one was particularly desperate. But an adventurer, a burglar? No, no, not in my wildest dreams could he have been either of those things.

                He was but a grocer, as I’d said upon meeting him. A silly little grocer with small hands and large feet and a curly mop of honeyed hair. One who babbled on about propriety and handkerchiefs and yet walked around in that frankly indecent clothing. Not even the most lascivious of dwarves would wander about in his daily wear! It simply wasn’t done. And yet he would not even so much as clap one of his party on the back for a job done well, for a good meal, a good fight! He called it _improper_ , the way we consorted with one another. I called him a burden, and truly, he was. He could hardly ride even the smallest of the ponies, he distracted everyone with his talks of the shire, of his home, of himself and his relatives and his friends.

                My nephews were especially bad for this; they’d walk beside him, each with an arm slung over his shoulder, their bodies hunched just so in order to allow them to all walk comfortably, and they would all just talk. Fili and Kili, each of them barely more than dwarflings, barely old enough to come along on this quest, would tell foolish jokes that made the Halfling’s gently rounded face light up, his pale brown eyes flash, and the hobbit would do the same. It slowed us, the talking and the laughter, and it was dangerous; who knew what could hear it? It wasn’t as if we needed help drawing the orcs to us.

                Tonight, however, it seemed that things would be worse than was usual. We’d just made camp and gotten a fire set up, gotten food cooking, and Bilbo had gotten the remainder of the company settled around him whilst he told a story. I supposed, at least, it wasn’t one about elves this time; he’d learned rather quickly that my kin had no fondness for such tales. Instead it was one about his own people, the single attack ever made on a hobbit village, the single time his sort ever went into battle. He smiled when he told it, his hands making wide gestures, and it was nothing like dwarven storytelling. In place of songs there were jokes, exaggerations. It was… a unique experience, I supposed, but I tried not to be drawn in by it.

                He was such a foolish, weak little creature, made soft by years of living in his forgotten little hole in the ground in his forgotten little village. Hobbits knew nothing of the world, I decided, were innocent and naïve of it. They were not built for the current state of things, for dragons and quests. Yet here this one sat, among us as if he were one of us, as if he belonged. He never would, however; he couldn’t. No matter what the wizard said. He was an old fool anyway, blurry eyed and slow. He’d not know a good burglar if one stole his gold.

                The hobbit looked to me and smiled that brilliant smile, gently curving on his face. Such simple creatures, hobbits were, caring only for a full belly and a soft bed. They looked at gold as if it were worthless, at the craft my people excelled in as if it were a fool’s errand. I bared my teeth at him for a mere moment, too quickly for it to be considered on purpose, and looked away. The little creature deflated a bit, and his story lost some of its pep. It was then that Balin stood and moved to me, his steps a touch slow, a touch hobbling. He had a particular reprimanding look on his face that reminded me far too much of days in the mountain long before, when I was hardly more than Fili’s age.

                “He’s proven his worth already, Thorin, with the trolls. You must be a bit kinder to him, don’t you think? Your nephews absolutely adore him, Kili especially. You could very well be seeing quite a bit more of him at journey’s end, if something comes of that.” He spoke softly so that only I could hear him. I at least appreciated that, I supposed. I took it a step farther, however, and spoke in Khudzul, as I’d heard before that hobbits had excellent hearing, like the elves whose ears they shared, and I didn’t want to test how excellent it truly was.

                “My nephews are children and they are fools. They find him interesting only because they’ve never seen such a soft creature before. Once the newness wears off they will see how idiotic it is to like such a thing.” Balin sighed and shook his head, his hand heavy upon my shoulder. “As for the trolls, we’d have never had a problem if not for him. All he did was buy enough time for the wizard to save us. We’d have died despite his little trick if Gandalf were not here.”

                “Did anyone else think to buy time, Thorin? Did your nephews consider the danger when they brought none but the Halfling to retrieve the ponies? You are being stubborn again.” Perhaps I was, but it made little difference. I did not like the hobbit, I didn’t. I had no reason to. I turned to look at him once more and his smile was bright as mithril yet again. Fili and Kili appeared enraptured. I might’ve huffed a bit, I supposed; it was truly shameful for those of Durin’s line to fall all over themselves in such a way, most especially for a creature as simple as a Halfling. I tensed my lips and whipped my head away.

                “Just look at him, Balin. He’s not at all like us, like any we’ve met. His clothes, his manner… have you ever met a self-respecting dwarf that would conduct himself in such a way?” Balin stared, mouth a bit agape.

                “Do you think he does it on purpose, Thorin? It’s only the way of his people, it seems. Cultural differences are of course difficult to overcome, but he certainly doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s the most innocent creature I’ve ever had the fortune to meet; you’d like him, Thorin, if only you gave him the chance to be liked.” I did not grace that with a response, and Balin finally gave in and went back to sit in the hobbit’s little circle. His story, it seemed, had ended, and Ori had begun one of his own, an old tale that he was forced to pause during periodically so that he could think of the proper word for something in Westron so that the hobbit would understand as well. I did my best to ignore it and keep watch even though the story was one of my own favorites, even though the hobbit with such fascination painting his face (for one of my people’s stories, of all things, one of my people’s tales) was a truly intriguing sight. I shook my head to free the thought; the little fool would look as so with any story, even one told by elves. He’d proven as much during our short stay in Rivendell, where he’d nearly eaten from the hands of the damned tree-huggers.

                They’d found him sufficiently fascinating as well, however. Of course they had; he appeared a smaller version of them, after all, with those ears and the fair face. If not for the feet, he could’ve been a perfect miniature. I did rather like his feet, and his ankles. I coughed softly as if someone could have heard the idiotic stray thought, and instead directed my mind to more productive matters, such as keeping watch.

                Such was the journey for some time; I’d watch the hobbit, think of all his wrongs and his silliness, watch my nephews pile atop him, pull his hair, beg for tales, all with increasing frustration. I truly wished that the little burden would just return to his fair Shire, to his underdressed companions and his simple life, far from me. He seemed quite unwilling to do that, however, no matter what suffering we faced. He clung to us, to adventure, he tried so damned hard, such persistence in his eyes, his letter opener thumping at his hip. He’d even expressed interest in learning to use the damned thing, and Fili had actually begun to show him.

                At times it was a struggle to not involve myself, to correct the teaching, to strip my nephew’s hands from the Halfling’s body, but to do so would be to show interest, and I refused to do so. He wasn’t worthy of my regard; he was simply a hobbit, and I was a dwarf. I was a king, if one without a crown or a mountain. I’d have it soon, however, and no time to worry about so trivial a thing as marriage, not time to worry over so trivial a thing as a hobbit. I cleared my throat once more and watched the training impassively.

                It was what occurred a few days later that stripped me of my indifference, and I suppose that has given me but one more reason to despise Azog, as if I needed another.

* * *

 

                We did not expect the attack, and I suppose that was foolish of us. We had but just escaped the goblin layer alive, found the hobbit still among us, when we heard the first of the Warg cries. The noise of it was piercing, as well as deeply chilling, terrifying. We tried to fight, but we were tired where they were fresh, our weapons damaged where theirs were whole, our numbers few where theirs were many. We had little chance from the beginning, but I had not thought… I had hoped for a less violent end, foolish as that may sound. Perhaps I had even hoped for victory. As we scrambled like frightened dwarflings up the tree, I realized how silly that thought actually was.

                It upset me, though, angered me more than nearly anything. How dare these beasts harm my company, stand in the way of my quest? That orc had killed my grandfather, driven my father to madness and, ultimately, to disappearance, and now he stood there as if he had the right to deny me my crown, to block me from my mountain. I was a king and I would have my home back, for all of my people. The tree we clung to fell, but it was the anger that would’ve done me in, that moment I climbed from the tree to face my longtime foe, the vision of my nightmares that mixed so seamlessly with all the damned fire.

                Azog was stronger than I, his Warg vicious and his men laughing as I was batted about as a child’s plaything. I’d been too long without a good, hearty meal and a full night’s rest. My sword was thrown from me and a branch no longer served me as well as it once had, so many years before. My head swam as it cracked against stone, the wounds on my belly that’d been dug in deeply by the white Warg’s teeth bleeding warm upon my skin, and my vision flashed from clear to black. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt as I saw feet stepping towards me, the flash of a blade. I did not understand Orcish, yet still I was certain of what had been ordered; this was where I would die. And then came the hobbit, insisting on surprising me yet again, the little fool. Now, I supposed, he would die with me, would die helping me regain my homeland as he’d said he would barely hours before this cursed battle. The tiny creature fairly flew into the fray, and I was able to spare only the thought that I wished he’d stayed in his little hole before I fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

                I awoke beneath the sun, the light of it hot against my face, but my body felt too weak to move. I supposed, as I drifted very slowly into awareness, that at least I wasn’t in pain. It was then that I remembered why I’d have thought I’d be in pain, remembered the hobbit, remembered Azog’s ambush.    

                “The Halfling,” I murmured, and Gandalf hushed me.

                “It’s alright, Bilbo is here. He’s quite safe.” Good, that was good. I hadn’t the slightest idea how the little creature had managed that, but it was good. I made as if I were going to stand on my own and was immediately swarmed with my kinsmen, their hands supporting me, but after a few stumbling steps, I waved them off. This was something to be done on my own.

                “You,” I breathed, my voice hoarse and thick, dry in my throat. Later I’d be scolded for speaking and moving around so soon after such a grievous injury, but at the time I hardly felt the ache. “What were you doing?” And that might’ve been the biggest question. Why had he been such a fool, jumping into a battle he was so ill-equipped for? What had possessed him to act as such an idiot? He was far from stupid, I knew; I’d seen his books, his maps, his culture. And yet he’d done this. He’d attacked a damn orc with a letter opener. I couldn’t even imagine why. He stared at me with his wide eyes, confused and almost hurt, and I felt something in my chest twitch. I let out my breath in a huff before I began to speak again, bemusement on my face, shaking my head as disapprovingly as I could manage before it began to thump madly.

                “You nearly got yourself killed!” Angry. I was angry. I had no reason to be; had I not told him that I would not be responsible for him? That if he died while on my quest it would not be my guilt to bear? But I was angry. “Did I not say you would be a burden?” Hurt him. There, yes, I was trying to hurt him. It seemed to be working, as well, for his eyes, his too-expressive eyes, continued to display his pain at the words. I felt a spark of scornful delight at that. Perhaps this would make him go back to his damn hole. “That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?” He could not look at me for the pain in his eyes, his throat working around a swallow as if to hold back tears. I heard my kin murmuring behind me, and I could only imagine the disapproving words. That is not what made me give in, however, not what made me drop the curtain I’d been so busily hanging about myself since meeting the hobbit. No, it was that hurt, that twist, in my chest, the pressure against my heart. I stepped closer to him, ever closer, and let out a sigh that held every scrap of regret I had towards the Halfling, all that I wished I had not ever said, all the falsehoods I had told of and to him. This was a sigh of giving in, even if only temporarily.

                “I’ve never been so wrong in all my life.” And the surprise on his face, the shocked happiness, was too much. I took him into my arms tight and hard, pressed his small, soft body against mine, my face against his neck. I was smiling, then, although perhaps I did not fully realize as much myself at that moment. I did not want to release him, most especially not when his own arms settled nervously around me, not long enough to meet at my back. Hobbits truly were small creatures, I noted, and Bilbo had been one of the larger I’d seen in his Shire. I stroked my hand once down his back as I pulled away. “I am sorry for doubting you.”

                “It’s alright,” he mumbled, seeming shell-shocked, “I would’ve doubted me too.” And that, I supposed, was enough. I had shown all that I would show, all that I needed to show. He was interesting, for a hobbit, for a creature who had, before now, not set foot outside his verdant fields. That was all; he was interesting, and he was brave; I supposed it was not so terrible for my nephews to hold interest in him. I had been needlessly cruel, before that moment, but I would cease to do so, now, instead letting things go as they would. I clapped his shoulder absently as I settled myself upon the stone again, my newfound strength leaving me as my mission was fulfilled. I stretched back, into the light of the setting sun, and watched my mountain, my kingdom, loom in the distance. We were so close, and the thought made me produce another pale, half smile. Perhaps our impossible quest would not be so impossible after all, and even if we failed, we had gotten far. Perhaps that would at least show the others of my kind that it was possible, that we could reclaim our lost land after all.

                The hobbit smile down at me, bemused but obviously pleased, and my nephews laughed in their bouncing, youthful way, and the chatter of my brothers filled the clean air once more, Gandalf looking over us all with detached amusement as was his wont. Yes, I had settled my guilt, done what I had to do, mended my bridges. The Halfling was more than he appeared, as much was obvious, and he deserved my respect. He’d have that if nothing else, I decided, as my nephews formed a small but hemming ring about him, chattering wildly. That evening, I listened to his stories as everyone else did, even if I didn’t involve myself. Not much would change, I decided, but at least now Bilbo would know that I held no ill-will towards him, that he was as close to a Dwarf as any could be. That was all I, any of us, needed.

* * *

 

                The hobbit was not cooperating with my resolution, not at all. No, rather than allowing things to stay as they had been (as they should be) he began to insist on being by me. He would walk beside me in the days and settle his bedroll beside mine at the camps in the evenings, all the time asking me questions and talking, and by the end of a week of it I knew far more than I’d ever wanted about Tooks and Brandybucks and Sackvilles, most especially about a particularly horrifying one named Lobelia who reminded me quite a lot of Dis. If the conversations made me bite back smiles and laughter, pleasure, if his quick, biting wit made me want to snicker in a most un-kingly fashion, no one really needed to know, did they? Certainly not. The little creature just needed to cease with his foolishness and pester someone else.

                It was a day like any other when I finally told him so. He was gesturing widely about him, a joyful sort of bounce to his steps, his feet so light that they didn’t even kick up a trace of dust as he walked, the sun reflecting on his tawny hair and flashing in his smile. He did not look like a dwarf; he did not look like anything so much as an untouchable sort of being, one who hovered far away, distant as all. And yet he walked in bare feet and acted as mortal as any, always within touching distance. I curled my fists into my cloak softly, carefully so as to not be seen, and bit the inside of my cheek hard, just once.

                “Will you _please_ leave me be, Halfling? You have trailed after me as a lost pup since the Carrock, and it has become quite grating. Go bother my nephews or Bofur with your tales; they always seem willing to listen to your silly ramblings.” The hurt sparked in his eyes (and they were such a pretty color, yellow-brown, almost like gold in the way they shone) but I willed myself not to react to it again.

                “I had thought-,” he tried, but I stopped him with a hand.

                “You saved my life, Halfling, and for that I am grateful. You have earned my respect many times over, and you shall have it, but I am afraid I simply cannot tolerate your excessive chatter.” I enjoy it far too much, and such are not the thoughts to plague a king’s mind. I had better worries to bother about than a hobbit’s voice, a hobbit’s kindness, a hobbit’s conversation. Such simple, simple creatures. They did not warrant such total domination of thought, no matter how quick of mind or fleet of foot or stalwart of heart or smooth of skin they happened to be. I turned my face from him, but I knew that he did not leave. No, instead he caught me by the sleeve of my coat and forced me to pause in the road with the shock of his forwardness; I’d met couples who courted for years before allowing such an intimate touch in public. I jerked my arm from his grasp hard and took a step away from him.

                “Thorin, if you respect me, have I not earned the right for you to call me by name rather than Halfling or hobbit? You’ve not seemed to excessively mind my company in recent days you know! In fact, I’ve caught you hiding smiles more than once! Is this some silly royalty thing I ought to know about? If it is, then quit it, would you? I’ve never been one to think that class should stand in the way of a friendship; Fili and Kili are princes, and they don’t seem to mind me too terribly.” He smiled just a bit, sweet and small, not even realizing how… affectionate he’d just been. Fools of creatures, hobbits were, flinging kisses and caresses as though they were nothing but, as I’d said before, balking at a hug between brothers or a good solid slap on the back for a job done well.

                “Bilbo,” I choked the name out, “tomorrow. Not today, not now. Tomorrow.” He was too much, the little creature, persistence in his eyes, determination that must have matched that which was there the day he rushed to my aid. More than met the eye indeed; perhaps I’d one day learn not to doubt the wizard who walked behind us with eyes that were certainly sparkling with mischief. I was sure it was his age that did it, that made him so intent on meddling. Bilbo put his hands on his hips and gave me an expression that was close enough to, but not quite, a pout.

                “Fine, fine, tomorrow. And if you try to brush me off again, I shall…” he seemed unsure of what he would do, “Why, I shall tell you the entire history of Hobbiton, including the family trees!” I was not sure if I should fear that or look forward to it, and so I simply waved him away and continued on ahead of him and the remainder of the company. For the rest of the day I was forced to suffer through hearing him show such devoted attention to others of the company, attention that should have been mine-. No. I refused to act as such a fool, pining for a hobbit, of all things.

                And yet that evening I found myself by the fire (Bilbo’s bedroll elsewhere, between Fili and Kili’s I believed) considering marriage, of all things. I never had before, not even when I was young and prime for it, for some noble’s daughter. Perhaps that is what I’d have been forced to settle for, had Smaug not come. It was a strange blessing, I supposed, in regards to a thing I always looked back on with horror, with disgust.

                I had always wanted to marry for love, as Dis had, and therefore had decided that I would consider it only upon falling in love. It was a romantic notion, for a future king as I had been, and yet that had been what I’d wanted, my dream. Now, I thought of it truly, of what it would be like to wed and rule with another. It was poor timing for it, however; what did I have to offer, a king with no crown and no mountain, no gold and no real power? Little, if anything, to be sure. Yet I could imagine the little being, his brilliant smile made more brilliant by gems about his neck and in his delicate ears, by rings upon his fingers and silken robes draped over his shoulders to flow down to those solid, ever-bare feet. Braids in his hair, too, and a crown wrought with more delicacy than anything, delicacy to match his features. My court filled with happiness because he had skill at that, I’d seen, skill at making people smile even when a shadow hung like a never ending eclipse across the land. He’d go down in history as the finest consort my people had ever seen, he’d have statues in his honor erected throughout Erebor, and my halls would forever remember his footsteps and echo with his voice. The thought made me swallow as if my throat were closing, my place at the fire’s head suddenly far too hot.

                Yet again I felt as a young man again, as the simpering teenaged idiot I’d never been. The hobbit should’ve been ashamed, making me react in so unroyally a fashion. He did not have the right, and yet he had. And he didn’t even know it, the little fool! He didn’t even see! But still yet I felt eyes upon me, the most worrying being those of my nephews. My worry was not alleviated when they came and sat by me, one on either side. Wonderful; they had me surrounded. That was never good news, where those two were concerned. Suffice it to say that Dwalin (in addition to many of the other elder dwarfs) does not call them little shits for nothing.

                “Does our Uncle have something he wants to get off his chest, Fili?” Kili asked, dark eyes looking far more dangerous in the light of the flame. Fili laughed, low; he had the makings of a king in him, I’d seen it many times.

                “Perhaps, Kili. I wonder, will he tell his beloved nephews what troubles him so? I think he won’t. Instead, brother mine, we’ll simply have to guess! Does it have to do with a certain member of our company?” If only he would grow out of his childishness and his teasing.

                “Perhaps a rather smallish one, with a very distinctive lack of a beard?” Kili added, the both of them now leaning towards me and whispering secretively.

                “And just the nicest little bottom anyone’s ever seen?” Fili pointed out, and Kili nodded thoughtfully.

                “His ears, too. They’re rather cute, for something so elfish.”

                “I think it’s the rest of him that makes one able to look past such a similarity,” Fili stated sagely. I could feel the makings of a headache exploding behind my eyes; I had never decided whether I was glad Dis’ children were so perceptive or if the fact was bane upon my life. At that moment, I was leaning very heavily onto the side of bane.

                “Might I ask what you two are doing speaking with me if you each find him so desirable?” Perhaps I snapped just a bit. Certainly I am justified, as it was to those two that I was speaking, and they are both notoriously frustrating.

                “Oh, we just want to help you, uncle!” Fili said, “You see, we’re not the only other ones who’ve noticed him. He is exotic, after all, and exotic can be… welcome, after so long on the road and so many sights of nothing but the same. We just wanted to tell you that you’d best get a move on, before someone else gets the nerve first. Worry over your reaction will only keep the rest of us at bay for so long, and after all, he’s quite the morsel.” I clenched my jaw, but I did not speak. Such silliness was not worthy of a response. No, instead I simply waited for the two of them to shrug and leave, at which point I lay upon my bedroll and gazed at the fire, too hot and uncomfortable in my travel-dirtied clothes, seeing Bilbo’s impish face smiling at me through the licking blaze. Perhaps the hobbit was a burden after all, weighing on my mind as he was. I couldn’t help but curse the thought of him as I finally managed to fall into an unrestful, sticky sleep.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, for starters, sorry this took so long! I promise I normally try to keep a more regular posting schedule than that, but, well, life sort of beat me up again, but, hey, here it is! I hope it still pleases, and there'll probably only be about one chapter left. I'm trying to keep this one pretty light, you see, but I promise I do have some deeper, more thoughtful stuff for this fandom hidden away somewhere, and I'll work on it as soon as is humanly possible!

                We started moving early the next day, when the sun had only just begun to peek over the horizon in the distance and the air was still chilly and damp. Bilbo shivered as he crawled from his bedroll, clothing woefully insufficient for the region we were entering, and I thought to perhaps give him my coat before I noticed Fili doing exactly that, his smile warm in a way it often wasn’t with any but his brother or his mother. Bilbo’s smile was even more scorching, the sight of it making my belly go tight and my jaw tense, my nails do their best to dig through the calluses on my palm.

                What was perhaps worse was the way my nephew’s hand proceeded to caress the smaller creature’s back, the way Bilbo simply rolled his eyes in response and touched his hand once before he walked away. Fili quickly walked after him, Kili joining him shortly, and they each slung an arm about him and walked as if they were the best of friends.

                The rest of the day managed to be even worse, what with my nephews seemingly trying their hardest to make it that way. I could’ve dealt with the minor kindnesses, with the conversations, personal though they might have been, with the stories. I could have, I swear it, for I have dealt with far worse over my years and done so stoically. But what Fili and Kili were doing… it was as if they’d skipped years of courtship and dived into marriage! Any uncle would’ve been disappointed, of course, to see his nephews so… desperate. It simply wasn’t dwarfish, and it certainly wasn’t befitting of the heirs to the throne, of Durin’s own line.

                The two of them would pull his hair or flick his ear, kiss his cheek our caress it with the back of their own hand, and Bilbo simply bore it all with an indulgent sort of smile. They should not have been getting such a smile, I did not think; they did not deserve indulgence for such lewd behavior! A dwarven lass would’ve beat them both about the head if they so much as attempted such foolishness, and rightly so! Yet the hobbit did not care. In fact, he even seemed to enjoy it sometimes, at least when he suspected no one was watching him. By the end of the day, though, he wasn’t even reacting. And hadn’t I said that he could speak with me again today? Why was he still keeping distance with me?

                I couldn’t help but blame it on my nephews once more. They directed the little creature with soft hands, but still were hard enough that I knew they could steer him in any direction they desired, and if that direction happened to be away from me… Fili and Kili were clever, for their age, I’d give them that, loathe though I was to do so. Finally, after we stopped for a quick lunch and I caught Kili cradling the Halfling’s right hand in both of his own, Fili rubbing and massaging it as if caught in a trance, I could not take it any longer and went to the group myself. I had to break it up, you see, as apparently no one else had bothered to note how _inappropriate_ it was.

                “Bilbo,” I snarled, and Fili and Kili stopped what they were doing to spare one another matching grins. I did not trust that for a moment; I’d learned after the first time I’d found rats in my wardrobe, all of them finding great pleasure in gnawing the leather, those two standing in the corner and sharing that same, innocent grin.

                “Yes?” he asked me, eyebrows raised and surprise in his eyes, along with a touch of fear hidden far behind it. It was suddenly hard to breathe and I wondered if Bombur had let the lunch fire go out of control again. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and the smoke was known to bother my lungs.

                “Might I ask you something?” I asked him, trying to soften the harshness of my voice, but he still pressed himself towards the tree behind him just a tad. I crossed my arms behind my back so he would not see me clench my fists with the frustration of it. It wasn’t as if I planned to skin him, and he had absolutely no reason to act as if I would!

                “Of course, Master Oakenshield,” he said, and I sighed. I’d long ago noted that he only called me so when I’d done something to bother him, somehow, to hurt him more than was usual.  

                “Why do you allow my nephews to act as they do with you, yet when another of the party offers you… affection, you spurn it?” He tilted his head confusedly, his curled hair flopping a bit to one side as he did so, and then understanding dawned. He laughed, eyes bright again and not with fear nor surprise, with genuine amusement.

                “Do you mean the back-slapping and the hugging and the head-butting? I’m afraid that’s all a bit… rough, for me, you understand. You dwarves don’t seem to understand your own strength! What Fili and Kili have been doing, though, reminds me rather a lot of the Shire. Sweet folk, the Tooks are, and I spent much of my youth with my Tookish cousins, always rambling close to the woods and swearing one day we’d go inside and find an elf…” he trailed off at my look, and then seemed to realize something. “Or a dwarf, of course. We were all quite fond of dwarves as well.” And one could always leave it to a Hobbit to realize exactly the wrong thing.

                “Still yet. Fili, Kili, the both of you ought to know how inappropriate such behavior is.” The both of them had the gall to laugh.

                “Lighten up, uncle!” Kili said.

                “It isn’t as if he minds, as he’s said. And who’s to care, really, if we treat a hobbit as he expects to be treated? There’s no harm in it, and it isn’t as if a noble of some sort will ever catch us at it.” They were playing oblivious, and I knew they were. It wasn’t as though I could call them on it, however, tell Bilbo what the boys truly meant by what they did, what it all meant to dwarves, not in a situation like this, with the hobbit sitting so confused but unafraid in the grass, ready for a good meal. I could discuss it with them later that night, I decided, after the hobbit had gone to bed. If they were to… if Bilbo was to be courted, I wanted it done properly, and I wanted him to know it was being done. I’d not have any more cultural misunderstandings on this quest; it was difficult enough as it was, without any of that getting in the way.  

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                Perhaps it’s because I’m not a dwarf, or a king, but Thorin confuses me. I’ve always admired him, ever since he stormed into my humble dwelling as though it were a fortress, and his dislike had hurt me, a bit. I’d long known that I wasn’t suited for the life he and his company led, but I’d wanted to help nonetheless, and none could say that I’d not tried. If I wasn’t always successful, that was a story for another day.

                Still yet, he’d always looked at me with scorn, with distaste, as though I were the lowliest little thing he’d ever had the misfortune to get stuck on his shoe. It grew quite grating after a while, I must admit. I’d thought that things would change after I’d saved his life, however; he’d become more friendly with me, if not exactly open, and he’d actually had a few conversations with me.

                Then he’d told me to leave him be, though, and he’d looked quite angry doing it, and now it seemed he didn’t even want me near his nephews! What had I managed to do that offended him so, after I’d thought I’d made a bit of progress on him? I sighed and walked through the shadows of the camp we’d made that night, but I hadn’t any idea how far I’d actually walked before a heavy, large hand caught me by the shoulder and stopped me. I might’ve gasped a bit, as if I expected something malevolent even though Sting remained a dull silver in the sheath, but I suppose I had the right, after the weeks I’d had.

                I hadn’t a need to worry, though, because Gandalf’s kind, wizened face looked down at me from the heavy darkness of the evening, and I offered him a wan smile. He had me sit by him on a fallen tree, his knees forced awkwardly towards his chest while I rested there relatively comfortably. Although not always, sometimes I did find a blessing in being small.

                “Bilbo,” he began, voice warm and thick with the smoke of his pipe, “what are you doing wandering through the night? We’ve had a long march today, do you not want to rest?”

                “I’m not that tired,” I said, staring off distantly, and he let himself sigh.

                “Tell me what troubles you, Bilbo.” I chuckled; he’d always been good at that, knowing when I was bothered. In hindsight, though, I could be a bit more obvious about my troubles than most. I suppose it comes from growing up in a place like the Shire, in growing up as anything but a warrior or a wanderer or a noble.

                “What have I done to anger Thorin now? It’s so frustrating! He treated me as a friend and an equal for a few days, but now it’s as if we’ve travelled back to that first night again! I almost expect him to call me a grocer!” I don’t believe he totally meant to, but Gandalf chuckled nonetheless.

                “Thorin is fond of you, Bilbo, I can promise you as much.” I’ve always been told that snorting is very unbecoming, but the dwarves did it often enough, so I supposed it wasn’t much of a problem if I did as well.

                “He doesn’t act it,” I grumbled, “When you’re fond of someone, you don’t yell at them, or glare at them, or bare your teeth at them, or-,” Gandalf cut me off there with an amused wave of his hand.

                “Thorin is not like most, Bilbo. He’s… I love him as if he were my own, you know, as I do you and the rest of the company, but he can be a bit thick-headed at times. Or, more accurately, he and his line are very probably the reason why the other races of middle-earth consider all dwarves to be mulish. If he does not think that something he feels is appropriate, then he denies and denies that he feels it until it simply cannot be denied any longer. I’m sure he’ll reach that state with you soon enough, but until then, please do be patient with him. Rock-headed he is, but rock-hearted? I’m not so sure of that. Keep at him, Bilbo, and he’ll come around.” I could only hope so. I did like Thorin, truly, and maybe even a bit more than I should have. I’d become invested in this quest, in returning him to his throne and his home, his people to their mountain, and I’d become equally invested in he himself. He was a good man, Thorin was, under it all. Caring, for those he thought worth caring about. I’d hoped to become one of those number, but it seemed he didn’t quite want me to do so. I smiled up at the sky as Gandalf lit his pipe and gave me a puff of it. I’d always been described as stubborn as a dwarf myself.

* * *

 

Kili’s POV

                My brother and I were trying all we knew, doing all we could think of short of bending Bilbo over his bedroll in front of the whole company, and yet still all we’d earned was a vaguely harsh word and many not-so-vaguely harsh stares. I’d known that uncle Thorin had enough self-control for the whole of dwarf kind put together, but I’d never thought he had quite that much! I’d almost call it admirable, if it hadn’t been so damned annoying. I was quite sure that Fili was beginning to feel the same. And we hadn’t even gotten to use our fool-proof plan of snuggling into bed beside him this night because the silly little hobbit was nowhere to be found and, believe me, we’d looked.

                “Perhaps our dearest uncle has taken him off after all,” Fili chuckled, his eyes alight with mirth, and I nodded.

                “Yes, yes! Why, they’re certainly out behind a tree as we speak, muffling their cries.”

                “No, no, only Bilbo would have to muffle himself. Thorin could keep silent in the face of anything, even as sweet a creature as Bilbo! Durin himself couldn’t make him speak if he did not wish to!” I laughed.

                “You’d make a fine myth-maker, brother. Perhaps you’d best tell that tale to Ori, see if he’ll write it for you.”

                “Ah, yes, the tale of the Mighty Thorin Oakenshield: the Dwarf who was silent in the face of all, including a hobbit’s ass.” I was about to reply with something suitably witty and amusing, but then a shadow fell over us, thick and dark, and I knew without looking who it belonged to. It has fallen over me at least once a week, like clockwork, since I was hardly but sixteen years old. Oh, we were in _trouble_ now! I hardly resisted a giggle, low and quick.

                “Uncle,” I said, sweet as I could manage, and he hauled the both of us up by the necks of our coats and dragged us over to sit with him by the fire. It sparked over his face, hellfire, dragon fire, threatening and dark, and perhaps I did still fear him, a bit, when he looked at me like that, with such fierceness.

                “Fili, Kili, we must speak. What you are doing with the hobbit is-,” Fili cut him off with a vague wave of his hand and I wondered when exactly he’d lost his mind.

                “Not at all your business, uncle. We can court who we wish, unless you’ve some reason why we shouldn’t.” His teeth ground together hard and I wondered distantly if he’d crack them. That’d sure bother Gloin, as he’d likely be the one expected to fix them. Or Gandalf, maybe.

                “It is entirely my business. You are my nephews, and Dis has instructed me to care for the both of you as my own. That includes choosing someone to court that I approve of, and I don’t approve of either of you two, or both of you, courting him, at least not the way you’ve been doing it.” I finally understood the game my brother was playing, dangerous though it was, and decided that I may as well play along.

                “You didn’t say you don’t approve of him, uncle, only that you don’t approve of us courting him. Can I ask why the difference? And how would you go about courting him, uncle?” He ground his teeth harder and I could see his thick fingers at his side curling into the furs he sat upon.

                “ _Properly,_ ” he hissed, “not with all this grabbing and kissing and such. Follow what you were taught about courting, and… he must know what you are doing. I will not stand for a forced courtship, or for a misunderstanding. That route will only end in heartache.” I rolled my eyes.

                “Uncle, courtships like you speak of take ages, decades, sometimes. We obviously haven’t got that kind of time, you know. We must get him before we reclaim the mountain, else he’ll simply run away to his Shire and we may never see him again!” If our involvement was not spurning him, perhaps a time limit would. He let out a heavy breath through his nostrils and his eyes flickered closed for a split second. He was obviously growing flustered, at us and probably the whole situation. I wondered if I’d get to see that funny vein that sometimes appeared in his temple, if you made him angry enough. “And you didn’t explain why you spoke differently.”

                “I spoke differently because I do approve of him, but you are both but children. You’ve no idea what a love, a bond, such as the one you consider truly means, and I would not see him hurt by your fleeting attentions. He is as worthy of respect as any in this company, and I would just as soon as not see him treated as a mere object for your temporary pleasure and amusement.” Fili finally spoke again, his arms crossed.

                “He would not feel as we did anyway, Thorin. He is not like us, he doesn’t love like we do. I don’t think any hobbits do, really. They share the love, the affection, rather than hoarding it. It seems he loves everyone rather than One.” Thorin looked away at that. He had likely realized something along those lines as well, at one point or another.  

                “If you believe this then why do you treat him as you do?”

                “Because it’s fun, Uncle. He’s a sweet little creature, clever and entertaining. I like him. I’d like to have a drink with him, in better circumstances. He’s also, as mentioned, quite… pretty. Attractive. In a strange way, of course, but attractive nonetheless, and I doubt you’d meet a man in this company who’d deny it, lest of course their hearts were already captured by another.” That raised his ire high and hot, and I saw it flash in his eyes as burning and bright as the best of the blue mountain’s forges.

                “Fun? You court for _fun_? I had thought that you had been taught better than that, nephews. You will only hurt him if you carry on in this way, boys. Have you not seen the way he looks at you two? He has had few friends among us for the majority of this journey, but the two of you have always been at his side. If he hears that all of that was but a game, do you not think that he’d be troubled at all?” We both tried to look cowed, but I don’t think we managed too well. After all, we hadn’t actually been courting him at all, and he obviously didn’t construe it in that way, as he considered all we’d done to be normal, so we had no reason to feel honest guilt.

                Still, he thought the hobbit looked at us as more than friends? I had always thought that Thorin was smarter than that, more observant. Oh, yes, the hobbit loved us, but not as lovers. If anything, he saw us as sons (if particularly gargantuan ones) or little brothers, and treated us as such, with that neat mixture of scolding and amusement and indulgence. He really would level our uncle, I decided, make him much easier to deal with. Perhaps, if he had Bilbo at his side, he’d even stop threatening to toss us in the dungeons, or actually tell our mother all that we got up to. I chuckled under my breath when Fili spoke again.

                “We will be serious then, Uncle, and try to make him understand.” He looked pained, seriously pained, the expressing digging deeply into the lines of his face and furrowing his brow. His mouth, though, was set in stone, and I knew that he would not protest. He was too proud to demand his nephews not court someone simply because he wanted them, most especially if that someone was a hobbit, of all things. Hell, I’d not even known what the simple creatures were, before I was led into the rolling green of the Shire, into their little village and their tiny homes, before I met a few myself. It was no wonder that they’d stayed so far out of history, really, but this one that we had, Bilbo… I could easily imagine him having songs written about him. I could easily see his sketch in the history books, his name taught to all the little dwarven children as the one who helped Thorin’s Company defeat the dragon Smaug, as the best damn burglar of all time.  

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                The next day, I walked on my own for some time, distant and periodically falling a bit behind. Dangerous, I know, but still I was lost within my thoughts. So lost, in fact, that I even jumped when Fili and Kili came to stand by my side and wrap an arm a piece about my shoulders. I thanked Fili once more for his thick, heavy coat, and he nodded softly.

                “Of course. Bilbo, your hair is getting a bit long, isn’t it? Must be getting in the way, hm?” Was it? Oh, yes, I supposed it was, a bit. I’d always kept my hair a bit shaggy, but now it was drooping in front of my eyes and hanging in thick, dirt-clumped masses around my face. I had been having to sweep it away to keep my vision clear more often than usual as well.

                “I believe it is, actually. Funny, with everything else that was going on, I never thought to give myself a haircut!” Kili chuckled and shook his head.

                “The map says we’ll be coming to a spring shortly, and if the water’s hot, we’ll likely pause for a quick break. All of us are getting right uncomfortable, you see, with all the mess on us. Why don’t you scrub yourself clean, too, and we’ll braid your hair for you afterwards, keep it out of your way and all.” That really did surprise me; I’d always thought that braiding was a very important, familial ritual for dwarves. For Fili and Kili to invite me to participate… how could I possibly refuse such an honor, really?

                “Of course! Thank you, boys, that’s very kind of you.” They grinned at one another over my head, and for a few miles more we spoke aimlessly and quietly, the two of them serving wonders at keeping my mind off of Thorin. I’d have to talk to him soon, though, I knew that much. Sooner or later it always came to that, and to be perfectly honest, I was hoping for sooner, in this case. That thought was interrupted when we reached the spring, though, and after seeing the steam rising from its surface, everyone was far too tempted for a dip to go any farther. Weapons clanged to the ground along with armor and thick coats, happy talk filling the air, and the most surprising part was that I joined in.

                I’d have never been comfortable with something like this at the beginning of the journey, but now… these dwarves were as good as brothers, to me. I could act as myself around them, rather than the proper hobbit who cared for doilies and fine china. It was… freeing, to say the least, diving into the water alongside them, getting dunked into the water and finding myself involved in a playful struggle, snatching a brush from one of their hands and using it for myself with nothing but a laugh in response. I was a bit disappointed that Thorin didn’t join us, though, but all he’d say on the matter was that he’d enjoy a bath later in the day, and for now of course someone had to keep watch. I’d never get over the annoyance of dealing with dwarf kings, I decided, if I lived to be as old as Gandalf.

                Fili and Kili did indeed keep their promise after we climbed from the water, however; they let me dress and then immediately sat me before them with my legs crossed. Or, more accurately, Kili sat behind me while Fili sat behind him, and Kili brushed my hair with short, hard strokes while Fili brushed his brother’s.

                I sighed and let myself enjoy the feeling, having not had my hair brushed for me since I was but a fauntling myself, and listened amusedly as Kili cursed Fili for pulling too hard, or for jerking the hair from his scalp. Similar arguments abounded across the camp as other dwarves, all of whom had undone the braids of their beards and hair, worked on each other methodically. Thorin continued to watch this all with impassive silence, but I couldn’t help the probably vain and incorrect feeling that he watched myself and his nephews more than the rest.

                My hair, being shorter and finer than theirs, was of course brushed first, so Kili turned me sideways and began twisting a braid into the longer strands of my hair by my face with quick, deft fingers. He was an archer through and through, I could tell, dwarf or no dwarf. He’d chosen the right weapon, certainly, no matter what any might say on the issue. That too was done quickly, at which point he held it with a silvery bead I was certain I’d seen him wearing himself, before. And then he simply stopped. I tilted my head, wondering if I’d done something wrong, and looked at him with what I hoped was a good smile.

                “What of the other side?” I asked as he seemed to think of something and carefully pinned the new braid behind my ear, so I wouldn’t be sweeping it away the same as I’d done to the loose hair.

                “Fili will do it,” he said, and I nodded before I turned myself to face the two of them and watch Fili, his golden hair a mane about his head, work on taming the mass of dark hair on his brother’s head. I felt oddly as if I were intruding on something intimate, but I felt the same when I watched any of the other families do the same, so I supposed it was best that I watched these two instead of them. They had, after all, included me, so obviously they didn’t mind. I felt dark eyes digging furrows into my spine as I did this and hoped Thorin wasn’t too upset that his nephews were treating me so like family.

                Eventually, Fili did indeed finish, at which point he and Kili switched places. I was made to turn the opposite way I had when Kili worked on me, and another braid was twisted into my hair, again kept in place by a silvery bead that was certain I’d seen Fili wear before and then pinned behind my ear. Kili patted my shoulder, which I took to mean that I was done, so I stood and wandered over to where Thorin sat. Honestly, I was hoping to make amends, but that… well, I suppose I could say that didn’t exactly work too wonderfully.

                “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled at me, gesturing at my hair, and I flinched back a bit.

                “Fili and Kili offered. I had thought that-,” he interrupted me harshly.

                “You know nothing of our ways, Halfling, and don’t presume that you do. Those braids are… my nephews are fools. To braid the hair of a hobbit, of all things…” he trailed off, eyes going a bit faraway where they were fixed on my hair, and admittedly I got a bit offended.

                “Oh, I’m not good enough to have my hair kept out of my eyes?” I snapped, and he growled.

                “I do not care whether or not your hair is in your eyes, Halfling, what I care for is the fact that my idiotic nephews are courting a hobbit! Have you no idea what a braid means to us? It is a very personal thing, to trust another with one’s braids. To allow my nephews to do that, you have accepted their offers of courtship.” He said all of that through clenched teeth, and I glared at him myself, best I could.

                “Fili and Kili are not courting me, you stubborn mule of a king! They were being kind to me, by offering to save me the trouble of cutting it while on this quest! Perhaps you should try it some time, the kindness.” Thorin looked legitimately shocked, his dark eyes going wide and his eyebrows raising, and he shot looks to Fili and Kili who only waved and smiled so innocently that it couldn’t have been real.

                “Bilbo, I’m-,” he tried, but I shook my head. I was annoyed, and perhaps it was unfair of me to act as I did, but I’d been after his kindness since we’d started on this quest, and he’d not given it to me. If he’d only just torn through his stubbornness enough to do so, now that the others were good to me, now that I’d saved his life more than once, it certainly was no issue of mine.

                “I’m afraid I simply don’t feel like listening right now, your majesty. Obviously you don’t care much for hobbits, if you were so upset when you thought your nephews were after one. I won’t trouble you with my company.” I’d let him stew on that for a while, I decided, perhaps until nightfall, and then I’d go speak to him again and give him his opportunity to apologize. For the moment, however, I caught sight of Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur by the fire, one cooking, one talking, and one carving, and decided to pay them a visit. Bombur even spared me a spoonful of soup, and Bifur tugged one of my new braids hard, looking confused and speaking, rapid-fire, in a tongue I couldn’t hope to understand. Bofur replied to him quietly in the same language, and a look of understanding, and even amusement, lightened the other dwarf’s sharp face. I wondered when my hair had become the talk of the company, but supposed that was a thought best saved until after dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hopefully the ending lives up to the rest! Anyway, the next thing I've got ready for posting is a Dresden fic that'll hopefully be something fun to chew on while I work on the requested sequel to The Unexpected Hazards of Working SI.

Thorin’s POV

                Throughout dinner (which was good, I supposed, though thin and lacking meat, and much of the texture had been created through liberal use of cram) I couldn’t help but wonder continuously whether I or the Hobbit were the greatest of fools. Honestly, I could not seem to make the decision, instead cycling between the two answers for the greater part of the evening.

                Bilbo still did not understand; I had outright told him, but he didn’t get it, or wouldn’t get it, I was unsure. If he continued to insist on behaving that way, I knew, he would only get hurt. I nearly wanted to shake him for it, hard, until he understood the danger, until he understood the meaning.

                As for myself, I spoke before I thought. According to many, I had a common issue with that. I’d hurt him again, this time when I was but trying to save him hurt, and I wondered when something like this would happen and he would cease forgiving me. Surely it would have to happen eventually, after all the hardship I’d dealt him over the course of our knowing one another. Still yet, I only wanted him to be happy, and I was simply unsure if my nephews, brave and clever though they were, could provide him that happiness. Really I supposed I’d worry over as much if any were to court him; after all, he deserved the finest things, the most beautiful of gemstones and livery, and few existed who could provide that. I simply didn’t want him to settle for less than the grandest of partners. I swallowed the last of my soup and passed the bowl to Bombur, who settled it with the remainder of our cooking supplies, and left for the springs, deciding then to partake in my own bath and clear my head. So intent was I on this that I didn’t notice the tramping of feet behind me until I had already submerged myself in the water, at which point Dwalin made himself known.

                “You’re a right fool, Thorin,” he said, and I sighed.

                “So I’ve often been told. Might I ask why I’m being called as such now?”

                “The hobbit. You fancy him, don’t you?” I coughed and choked, suddenly, and shook my head. The hobbit? Of course not; how could I, after all? He was only a hobbit, a small, simple creature, nothing like royalty. Indeed, he was pretty, but many were, and he was clever, but many could claim that as well. There was nothing particularly special about him, really; I simply respected him, for saving the life of myself and my company, so of course I wanted him to end up with the very best.

                “Certainly not. I believe it is my nephews who hold that particular affinity.” Dwalin shook his massive head and sighed.

                “Thorin, you’ve oft been called thickheaded, but I’ve never thought you more worthy of the title than now. Your nephews don’t want the lad; they only see that you do, and want to spurn you into acting. They’re children, indeed, but bright as any, and they’d grown as tired of your mooning as any of the rest of us.” Mooning? How dare he? I was a king! Kings do not _moon_ over silly little hobbits.

                “I care for the hobbit no more and no less than I care for any other man amongst us. I simply don’t want him hurt by a misunderstanding of our culture, or of Fili and Kili’s intentions.” Dwalin looked frustrated as I began to scrub the dirt from my skin, but he cast me that look often, so I’d become largely immune to it.

                “I’ve just told you that your nephews are no more interested in the hobbit than I am, Thorin. Will you not just put aside your denial and tell the hobbit what you feel? It isn’t as if he’ll refuse you, if that’s your fear. He moons over you near as much as you moon over him.”

                “The hobbit does no such thing. Have you not seen the way he casts his gaze over my nephews? Or better yet, the way they cast their gaze over him, the gentle touches, the braids. It all reeks of affection.” Dwalin snorted, the sound of it feeling almost loud enough to rattle the trees that were scattered liberally around us.

                “And so intent were you on seeing the braids as those of courtship, and growing angry about it because you’d hoped to get the hobbit yourself, that you did not even look closely enough to realize that the braids were those of a brother, not those of a lover. Tell him, Thorin, and end all of our suffering at this idiotic little game the two of you are playing.” Damn; so it was. I had not looked beyond seeing the braids, had not seen the simplicity of them that would never stand in a lover’s braid. So I’d upset him for nothing, and yelled at my heirs for the same. Had it always been so? Had I always misconstrued their actions as something less innocent than the truth?

                Of course I hadn’t! They’d admitted their intentions, had they not? Yes, but they were adept liars, and if they were trying to fool me… they’d planted the thought in my head, with that, and now could better judge my reactions, the clever little shits. So why had I become upset? Because I wanted the hobbit to have better, of course, but what was better than the direct heirs to the line of Durin? Both of my nephews were skilled craftsmen, skilled smiths, skilled miners, at least as skilled as I myself, and so what else could I ask for the courter of a hobbit? Someone older, yes, someone with more experience. Someone of greater status than prince. Someone with a properly grown beard, an adult. Myself, a traitorous little voice in my mind whispered, and I cursed beneath my breath. Dwalin chuckled, warm and familiar.

                “Finally realized it, have you?” he asked me, and I nodded slowly.

                “How have I missed it?” Surely I was not so large a fool as that? If I were, what right could I possibly have to call myself King Under the Mountain? Almost certainly none!   

                “You’ve greater skill at denial than any I’ve ever met, your majesty,” Dwalin said, teasing now occupying his voice, and I sighed.

                “Still yet, there is nothing I may do. I am a King who lacks a throne, a crown, a mountain. I am King but in name, and even then it’s tenuous. I’ve nothing to offer the poor little thing, and even if I did, he would not accept it of me. Surely he now despises me, for all I’ve said and done to him. Dwalin shook his head and clapped me hard on my right shoulder.

                “No, Thorin, you’ve all the offer that Bilbo could ever want; affection and love, kindness, a protector and one that he might protect, adventure. He’s a simple creature, as any hobbit is; he wouldn’t care if you were only a pauper, if you gave him the love and the devotion he desired.” True as anything, I supposed, or at least true enough.

                “But I am no pauper, nor am I a man who has offered him any of those things before. He will not want me, and I will not embarrass myself with the attempt.” Dwalin growled and the air filled with the noise of rock fall.

                “I suppose a fool is still a fool no matter how much sense you hammer into his thick skull. I’ll leave you be, then, your majesty. Perhaps you’ll finish coming to your senses once you’re clean.” And so he wandered off on heavy feet, leaving me to myself for perhaps ten minutes more, before a lighter set of footsteps, these belonging to Gandalf, made their way over to me.

                “Have you come to call me foolish as well?” I asked, perhaps a bit bothered, and he chuckled. The glitter in his eyes was as unnerving as ever in the dark of night, mischief alight in every line of his gangly frame. He could be trusted, indeed, at least with those things of import, but I knew that he could not be trusted not to _laugh,_ to shroud the simplest of things in riddles and challenge, to partially conceal what he wished until he saw fit to show the rest. He was, I supposed, quite similar in nature to the gray of his robes.

                “In so many words; Dwalin told me of his progress, and felt that I was the best choice to send you the rest of the way along your road to understanding. You’ve come to one realization tonight, and it’d be best if you came to the other as well. Take Bilbo aside tonight and apologize for all that you have said and all that has happened; if you do this, he will surely accept it, and you may continue on to discuss what you feel in greater detail. He’ll welcome that as well, if what he discussed with me this past night bears any indication.” Bilbo had spoken to Gandalf of me? It seemed that there was much I’d remained unaware of. That would not stand; if he wished to speak of me, he could just as well speak to me. After all, it seemed we’d been being pushed in this direction for some time. Perhaps I had better chances than I thought.

                “Do you tell me the truth? Is the hobbit really interested?” Gandalf nodded, his smile pleased and amused, and, for once, not veiling anything. I nodded once, sure at last. “Tell him that I will see him by that tree over there in ten minutes, then,” I stated, and he left with another smile and a nod of agreement. After that, I finished my bath and dressed in half the time I’d set, and marched over to the tree to wait for the little creature. I felt, quite honestly, more confident than I had in some time, and surely, this time, I would fix what had gone wrong between myself and Bilbo. He really would make such a pretty consort; I wondered how expansive he’d allow me to make the ceremony. Hopefully he’d at least allow me to have a statue of him cast, or a bust carved, to decorate one of the halls.

* * *

 

                I did not hear the hobbit approach (how had I missed his talents as a burglar so thoroughly upon first meeting him?) and he easily could have snuck up on me had I not seen him coming. His face was flushed a very flattering shade of pink because of the rush he must’ve taken to get to where we now stood, and his hands were quickly clasped behind his back. It would have looked much more proper, had he not been dressed in Fili’s oversized jacket and a vest that had long ago lost the majority of its buttons.

                “Hello, Thorin. What seems to be the trouble now?” he asked me, a somewhat amused lilt to his voice, and I stood straighter in response, fixed my kingliest expression to my face, and prepared to deepen my voice for an added element of power.

                “It has come to my attention that you are due a number of apologies, Master Baggins. I have spoken to you very rudely, recently, and often without cause to do so. You see, my nephews, as well as, I suppose, the remainder of the company, have been trying to clear the haze from my eyes so that I might see the true value you hold to me. To do this, they purposefully engaged in inappropriate, or seemingly inappropriate in the case of the braids, with you. I became upset only because I felt you deserved better treatment at the hands of a different dwarf.” Bilbo’s cherubic face was quickly painted with a small, kind smile, which then split into a wide grin.

                “They made you jealous, then,” he said, and perhaps that ruffled my feathers a bit. Jealousy was above me, above all dwarves, despite what the tales of men said of our covetous nature. What belonged to a dwarf belonged to a dwarf; there was no denying that claim or that right. Jealousy did not come into play, only… strong disagreement as to the origin of the right or the claim, which was perfectly understandable. After all, such disagreements were generally taken into account for any trial that occurred over some such object, and could sometimes win said trials.

                “Certainly not, merely a bit upset and therefore a bit irrational. Do you accept my apology?” He smiled again and took me by the hand, his fingers seeming pale and fragile in mine though I’d seen those fingers, that hand, swing a blade so hard as to kill an orc and his Warg. The contrast, the contradiction, was most assuredly fascinating.

                “Of course I do, Thorin,” he said, still giving me that lovely, kind smile.

                “Then I’ve another question for you, Bilbo. I offer you my hand, tonight, my courtship; will you accept this of me?” Another laugh, this one a bit shocked, breathless.

                “Gandalf told me that you would be more open to me, once your thick-headedness was overcome, but I hadn’t thought it would be such a dramatic change. If your offer is a serious one, then I accept wholeheartedly.” It was wildly inappropriate of me, to be sure, and it skipped near enough to fifty steps of the courtship process, but I could not resist the urge to gather the hobbit into my arms and press soft kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his brow. He giggled and squirmed in my grasp, his bright eyes sparkling with his pleasure and his amusement, and I wondered how I had ever missed such a sweet little treat longing after me. Truly, I decided, I was the far larger fool than he. Finally, however, I was forced to settle him back onto the ground. We stood in silence together for but a moment before he spoke again. “I must say, however, that I’m quite surprised. I always thought you despised me, Thorin.” I settled a hand upon his shoulder and squeezed as softly as I could.

                “Indeed? I must say that I once thought as much as well. You were not what I had expected when I envisioned a burglar, and when I saw you, I thought the wizard had finally gone absolutely mad. You were unfamiliar, and the quest itself was unfamiliar enough; I hadn’t wanted another variable, another burden. I’ve already stated how wrong you’ve proven me in that regard, however. So much bravery as can be found in you could not fit within a being over twice your size. Still yet, I have been taught the art of hiding emotions since my birth; such is often the lot of a king. I’m afraid that I’ve grown so adept at this art over the years that I often hide those emotions from even myself. As any man, I often need a good swift kick to make me see what’s right in front of me.” Bilbo chuckled, warm, friendly; the chuckle I’d always seen him give my company and always wanted for myself.

                “I suppose I can understand that, Thorin. Shall I share something as well? I’ve always admired you, from the day you entered my home to now. You’re noble, and incredibly strong; perhaps even… majestic, if one felt particularly poetic. You’ve led your people with a power that seems to have been long lacking in this world, although I suppose I know comparatively little of the world beyond the Shire, and you’ve done so in the face of countless tragedies. It’s all very admirable indeed, Thorin, and perhaps that’s why I’ve grown so imbedded in you, in your quest. I want to help you, Thorin; I want to see you restored to your throne and your happiness. Truly, Thorin, have I grown to love you.” The words were a shock to my core for their suddenness, though they were far from unwelcome. Love? How funny. I’d never imagined that I would… that my childhood dream would be fulfilled, most especially on a quest, an adventure, which spanned all of Middle Earth. I’d almost call it surreal.

                “And I would have you at my side upon reaching my throne once more, Bilbo, as my consort. I’ve met no one more capable than you of ruling by my side, and surely my happiness would know no bounds once this quest ends and that goal is reached.” If I had skipped fifty steps with my previous action, Bilbo must have skipped a hundred with the kiss he pressed to my lips, hard and insistent, his arms slung about my neck. Still, I am but a dwarf; resisting such an offer would make me more a fool than I already was, and surely then I would be incapable of ruling. I wrapped my own arms around his waist and drew him tightly against me until I could nearly feel the warmth of his skin through my armor.

                Perhaps, however, it got a bit out of hand after that. My mouth fell from his and instead took up worrying a mark upon the full curve of his jaw, another at the bend of his neck, still another by his ear and high on his throat. All the while his fingers spasmed against my neck and soft, aborted noises slipped passed his lips. It was without my knowledge or consent that my hands shoved the jacket from my shoulders, worked the remaining buttons of his shirt and his vest free, and certainly I would never make the choice to rid him of his trousers or his smallclothes in such an open setting, but my hands had not the knowledge of kings that I did.

                If he pressed tighter, harder, against me to combat the chill, it was surely just a side-effect, and a minor one that I could not have predicted at that, and indeed, the most acceptable solution at that point would be to lower us both carefully to the ground, him beneath me to keep him warmer. At the very least, he seemed to appreciate it.

                “Thorin,” he murmured, his head tilted back to show the marks I’d made, the scrapes of my beard against the delicate skin, and I traced one hand over them, across his chest, my fingers teasing at dusky nipples until he was writhing beneath me and close to begging for something more.

                “Such a lovely creature,” I couldn’t help but say, my hand sweeping down his belly so lightly that he shuddered, my mouth proceeding to dip down and lick at one of the nipples my hand had left. He went tense for a moment at the shock of it, then relaxed, more noises sliding desperately from his mouth until the small space we’d carved for ourselves here was ringing with them. It was a fight to sit up and pull away even slightly, but the short reprieve did allow me to think momentarily of comfort and shrug off my own overcoat, which I proceeded to slide beneath his pale body so the rocks and twigs beneath him wouldn’t cause any unnecessary discomfort. He hummed quietly in appreciation before his legs opened just the slightest bit more and I turned my attention to greater issues.

                I took him into my mouth without hesitation, although my hand chose instead to go towards his own mouth, where he took hold of my wrist and sucked at my fingers as best he could at the awkward angle and the slight stretch.

                My tongue pressed against the slit, swirled about the head, until his free hand was wrapped tightly in my hair, until his eyes were clenched closed with pleasure and his hips were fighting not to buck into my mouth. I made a soft noise, one whose name I don’t know, and the vibration of it set him to squirming again. Desperate sounds fell from the tip of his tongue around my fingers, and I felt his thighs going taut and relaxing cyclically as his toes curled and his legs kicked at the earth. I sucked until my cheeks went hollow and teased a vein that ran along the underside with my tongue until he was all but crying out, certainly ready to come, but I stopped him with a solid grip about the base. The wild, desperate noise increased as I removed my fingers and he shook his head, cheeks flushed very prettily, and carefully I placed his legs over my shoulders so I could reach where I needed to reach.

                I slid one finger inside of him easily, and he jerked just slightly as he grew used to the intrusion, and I worked it slowly until he relaxed around me, until his eyes grew hazy and he moved with my hand. The second was more of a challenge, and caused him a bit of pain to be sure, so I fell still until he moved himself, at which point I set to stretching him, scissoring my fingers as widely as I dared, until finally I gestured as in beckoning someone and hit something that made him scream and jerk hard against my hand, his whole body strung as tightly as one of Kili’s bowstrings, until he suddenly relaxed almost entirely such that the third finger went in nearly as simply as the first.

                As I moved them, my own body began to fight me, my whole self too warm and my breeches far too tight. With the hand I’d only recently freed, I managed to do the ties and slip myself out, though the cool air made me shiver. My fingers worked him open thoroughly, methodically, seeking what he enjoyed and what he didn’t, until he was all but crying with the pleasure of it, crying for more.

                Still yet, it took a bit of rearranging before he was in a position to take me, settled on his hands and knees and shaking with chill and anticipation both. I covered him with my body shortly thereafter to eliminate the former, and slowly, so painfully slowly, slid within him, inch by agonizing inch, until I was fully within him. I could not differentiate between our breathing, the both of us did it so raggedly.

                The tightness, the heat, around me was almost excruciating, and I clutched at his hips perhaps just a bit too tightly to keep myself from going out of control and moving before he was ready, from hurting him.

                It felt like hours before his breath calmed some and he pressed back against me, gave the signal that I could move without risk of harming him, and finally I began to thrust in earnest, to clutch him tightly to me and whisper quiet, meaningless things in his ear, some in Westron and some in my own Khudzul, to slowly twist my hand up and down his own sex until he was moaning incoherently, variations of my name and more and harder until the words lost all individuality, until I was moving hard and fast within him.

                I wished then that it could have lasted longer, but such was certainly not the case. On one particularly hard thrust, I hit the place that seemed to make him see stars, and so too did I move my hand in just the proper way to make him cry out and come, to go boneless and pliant beneath me.

                The muscle around me squeezed tight and spasmed as he came, and the intensity was so strong that I had to bury my own face desperately into his neck, squeeze his hips once again too hard as I continued to move, fast, shallow, until finally it was too much for me as well and I came within him.

                I slipped out slowly and tucked myself away, wrapping him tightly in my jacket and cradling him in my arms, my mouth pressing another kiss to his forehead. I realized suddenly that I’d quite lost count of how many courtship steps we were missing after I’d gotten his pants off of him. I chuckled quietly as I carried him to the spring and let him bathe once more so he could redress himself, and he smiled too, sated and lazy, even though he couldn’t have known what I’d been considering. 

                 I couldn’t imagine, then, ever being any happier than I was. Bilbo was perhaps the most amazing being I’d ever met, as kind-hearted as he was brave, as lovely as he was strong. He was a rare creature, that darling who had fulfilled the dream I’d had since I saw Dis wed, the dream of finding and marrying my own One, of ruling at his side. Of course, I’d have never imagined that a hobbit, of all things, would be what fulfilled that fantasy, but now that it was, I most certainly couldn’t complain; from what I’ve seen, no greater creatures exist upon Middle Earth than the simple hobbit. I almost dreaded the time when I would have to share him with the remainder of my people. Although, more immediate, I supposed was the fear of returning to the campsite and enduring the remainder of the company’s reaction to this newest news.

                Ah well, I supposed, easily allowing Bilbo to reach out and twine our fingers together as we walked, there was only so much that they could laugh, but the celebration? That we could partake in as well, and it went on for far longer. After all, the king had just found his love; if that wasn’t worthy of a bit of a party, nothing was.

* * *

 

                Though I’d done all I could to hide what had happened, the amount of time we’d been gone and Bilbo’s expression (and perhaps mine as well) still alerted the company to what had occurred, and they greeted us with raucous applause that set Bilbo’s cheeks to blushing red as cherries. Finally, however, once that had ended, I was able to make an announcement of my own.

                “I will now be courting Bilbo. Will there be any objections to this courtship?” The silence was music, and Bilbo clutched my hand tightly, kindly, still with that foolhardy smile painting his features, reminding me of how he had looked at our first meeting, of the fullness of his cheeks, the glow of his skin and his eyes and his hair. “Then set up the fire. I will present him with my courting braids.”

                “Little late for that,” someone muttered, resulting in a few muffled laughs, but beyond that, the fire was built as it should’ve been, large but contained, the wood arranged just so around it and a mat settled before it for Bilbo and myself to kneel upon.

                I led him in doing so, his eyes lost and confused but trusting, and I carefully undid the braids that my nephews had done (sloppy; I should’ve known they weren’t courtship braids at first sight) and returned their beads to them. They each smiled in return and gave me their quiet congratulations, while Bilbo received twin tweaks of his ears. I swatted their hands away under the pretense that I needed the space to put in my braids.

                They were complex, more so even than those I used in my own hair, and as I worked, my brothers around me began to hum and sing a soft song, some even breaking out their instruments to add more depth to it. Upon completion, my beads shone like fireflies in his hair by the firelight, and the delicate braids framed his face very nicely, in my own opinion. I lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, gentle, and in response he settled his free hand on my cheek and drew me into an equally gentle kiss. It could not have been more beautiful if it took place in Erebor’s own halls.

                “Congratulations, your majesty, his majesty’s consort. I can’t help but think you’ll make the finest pair Erebor’s halls have seen since Durin and his own lovely bride,” Bofur said, his smile half hidden by his beard, and agreements were heard all around. Bilbo took it all with easy grace, and yes, I had never felt a love so fine, so pure, as this. Certainly, Erebor would be mine again soon; nothing else would be good enough for Bilbo, my beloved consort. I couldn’t wait for the day that he and I could look upon those halls together, side by side.  


End file.
